A Different Kind Of Love
by Infallible.Mirage
Summary: Only the best of friendships can hope to survive a romance and it’s aftermath. Theirs deepened. A/J - Dove Spring Exchange.


_11 drabbles; 111 words each - because there was too much to say to put it in a one-shot. _

_Written for Tuathail, A/J Friendship request._

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**A Different Kind of Love **

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**I**

"She told you?"

"After about a month of stammering. I'm so _very_ glad you picked such a fluent spokesperson for this country." Her tone makes it clear she is teasing _him_ and not her friend – said spokesperson.

He doesn't mind. "Glad to see the desert sun dried up your tongue. Heard you had some news of your own?"

"Mmm, what will your ministers think of a double wedding?" Her voice holds nothing but idle speculation.

"There may be some fervent gossiping as to what the pairings are."

She winces. "Three months in between?"

"We go first - called it!"

"I see being King's matured you." The sun hadn't dulled her sarcasm either.

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**II**

She truly realizes how their positions have changed when his guards drag her out of his chambers for screaming at the new king over matters of protocol.

He catches up to her at the farthest training court outside, breathlessly spurting apologies for what just happened, protesting that the guards hadn't recognized the Lioness buried under untold layers of winter clothing – her not having bothered to change before storming into his rooms.

He replies to the death glare she sends by promising to make the guards to swear never to kick her out of his presence again.

He regrets that decision anew each time he sees blazing violet eyes piercing towards him.

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**III**

"Nervous? Not our ladies man?"

"A little." She's teasing; he tells her the truth.

She senses real urgency in his voice. "Don't worry, it'll be fine. Goddess knows Thayet's beautiful enough."

He smiles at the envy he hears. "But she's not --"

Her sudden breath intake is clear over the buzz of the party. "Don't."

"We were good together." A statement.

"Arrogance?"

"Longing."

"_Don't_." Again.

He's perfectly serious, but he _needs_ to lighten that expression on her face. "I…" he forces himself to smile crookedly, "never flirted properly with you before. I'm only making up for it now…"

She grins too…but the obvious lie holds tight and lingers between them.

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**IV**

"Lovely wedding."

"You weren't _there_." She makes no attempt to hide the accusation in her voice.

"Duty called."

"You don't care." She turns the statement into a plea that calls desperately for him to deny it.

He doubts words express how wretched he felt when he saw the red emergency notice from the Marenites. How can he voice that sometimes the country is more important than anything, even friendship? That duty to his crown and realm _must_ precede all else.

Especially because _she_ of all people should understand that already.

She _does_ understand - but for the first time in her life, she really, _really_ wishes duty could've taken second place.

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**V**

George just happens to be 'off' that day, and somehow she's glad.

_He_ listens to her story and doesn't protest when she insists on keeping it, but instead smoothes her hair out of her eyes and says all the things good friends _should _say, while letting her sob into his shirt.

When Thayet inquires about his soaked shoulder, he mumbles something about an errant fountain.

Two weeks later, she wakes to find blood smeared all over her sheets. She feels a mixture of relief – and guilt in recognizing the relief, at the knowledge of the miscarriage. He's the first and only one she tells about that too.

George never finds out.

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**VI**

She remembers a time she didn't have to unclip her sword to get within five metres of him.

She thinks wistfully of the days when she could greet her friend with a hug, and not a strictly measured bow.

She scowls at memories of rushing into his rooms whenever she wished, instead of standing at court parties when he is too swarmed by courtiers to approach, and she too uncomfortable to try.

She reminisces of when they used to be able to laugh at the etiquette master, instead of having to listen to him.

She shrugs resignedly to herself. She supposes this added memorization is keeping her mind sharp at least.

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**VII**

The first time is to get acquainted with the darker side of this exercise.

The overwhelming urge to feel the cold, crisp crunchiness of this gorgeous, newly fallen snow underneath his hands is what brings him down the second time.

He only 'sat down' the third time for a short rest.

The fourth time he takes a tumble, followed subsequently by a plummet and a roll, he glares menacingly at his guffawing friend for mere seconds before meekly asking for a hand up, and preferably some help in finding his other snowshoe.

She inquires sweetly if he wouldn't like to feel the crunchiness of the snow for a few more moments.

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**VIII**

He's the only who dashes out of a Council meeting, knocks over chairs, and a quite significant member of the Tyran embassy in the hurry to get to her bedside.

He's the only one who hears much more in her screams than the pain of a woman in labour.

He's the only one who sees the shadows - not only under her eyes but within them too, when she sees her son for the first time.

He's the only one who knows the tears trickling down her cheeks are not purely from joy and exhaustion.

He's the only one who could love her enough to suffer through all this knowledge alone.

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**IX**

He feels downcast and pitiable, knowing she's visited countries he'll only ever get to hammer out peace treaties with.

Her method of improving her king's mood meets with severe reprimands, both from him and his rather unfortunate wife.

She tries to keep a straight face while protesting, "But Sire, you wished to have the chance to view some inhabitants from these countries firsthand. I went to all the trouble of selecting the best of all the Eastern lands, and now you've decide frogs don't count as inhabitants?"

"I was referring to _people_." His voice is decidedly strangled.

"Ah…but I don't think humans would've reacted well to being dumped into your bed."

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**X**

When he is the king, he's a king; regal, commanding, untouchable. In his presence she is no less awe-inspired than any other subject, because the majesty he carries and breathes makes it impossible for her to recall any trace of the young page who used to laugh at her inability to solve fractions.

When he's her friend, she finds it impossible _not_ to call up that memory, amongst so many others.

She once told him that she'd rather see two different people, who are both truly and completely _him_, than the blended version he shows others, because she knows him well enough to sense if a part of him is missing.

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**XI**

A lush hill. A gorgeous landscape. The perfect picture of a couple enjoying the summer breeze.

They spend the day together; laughing, bantering, chatting – just _being_ with each other with an ease only best friends and old lovers can muster. It's the ideal day, one they don't have nearly enough. But it _does_ happen, every once in a while, and when they leave with the sun, back to the respective lives and duties bind that them, they capture that image in their minds, as something to hold on to until it occurs again.

It's right during the raging Mindelan standoff.

Because friendship must be friendship, even in the midst of fights

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_Review?_


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